


The End: Moving On

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, M/M, Other: See Story Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reunions uplift the sprit of the group, but out of happiness comes tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End: Moving On

## The End: Moving On

by Terri

Author's website:  <http://terri.populli.net>

Don't own them. Never have.

This is Chapter 2 of 'The End' series.   
My thanks go to my beta readers. Alex, Mary Ellen and Starwatcher. They do so much work for very little reward. Any mistakes that you see are mine, and mine alone.

Please be warned. There's character death in this part. It's not Jim or Blair but is a canon character. If anyone needs to know who it is exactly I've included the name at the end of the story.

This story is a sequel to: The End: The Start of it All 

* * *

With a quick jab, Joel pushed a piece of wood into the campfire, watching to ensure it caught fire before he moved away. The flames cast shadows across the makeshift camp, shadows that flickered and danced over sleeping bodies, belongings and ruined buildings alike. It had been two days since Jim had left, and Joel was torn between staying or moving on. He'd been aware of the others looking to him for direction, to decide what to do. Jim had said he'd be back in two days, and Joel had utter faith that he would be. But now that two days was up, and when the others woke they would expect a decision, a decision that Joel wasn't sure he could make. He'd lost so much; to lose more would be too much to bear. 

Above, the night sky was shrouded by dust, thick and choking, that coated every surface. Joel knew that high above the stars would be shining, but all he could see were dark clouds; not even the moon shone through. That is if there was a moon; he just didn't know anymore. The lack of light, artificial or natural, was one of the worst things now. As the sun set, and the dust clouds changed from red to black, all light was extinguished, plunging Cascade into darkness so thick it seemed tangible. Numerous fires were the only sources of light, burning bright and fierce from buildings, fuel lines, gasoline spills. Many fires that filled the air with smoke and sparks in the distance. Joel and his charges would huddle round their own camp fire, tense and nervous until the sun rose once more, bathing the ruins in its feeble light. 

For the last two nights Joel had sat awake after the others slept, huddled in a sleeping bag against the chill night air, lost in his own thoughts. Physically he was exhausted, but his mind raced from one topic to another. What had happened, how they would survive, where they would go next? He worried about the people under his care, about Jamie's ankle, and Abigail's nightmares. Every bit of his attention was focused on these people; he didn't think about 'before'. He couldn't, because once he did that he knew that he'd crumble with pain and grief, and he couldn't do that; he had to be strong. 

"Uncle Joel?" 

"I'm here." Turning towards where he knew Abigail was sleeping, Joel scrambled from his sleeping bag, then carefully walked towards her, sitting down so he could rest his hand on the shoulder of the young girl. "Do you want something?" 

"Just you; I was lonely." 

"I'm here now, you can go back to sleep." 

"Okay." 

Joel watched Abigail shift into a semi-comfortable position, astonished but also a little unnerved by the blind faith she had in him. Aware that he should try and sleep too, he moved his bedding and lay down next to her, squirming into the sleeping bag once more, the hard ground just another minor annoyance that he'd learned to ignore. As Joel fell asleep, his last thought was a fervent prayer that Jim would appear in the morning, and save him from the hardest decision that he would ever have to make. 

* * *

"Can you actually see where you're going Jim?" 

Hunched up with one leg stretched along the seat, Blair tried to see the route Jim was driving. His head ached and his leg thumped with pain -- sharp, intense spasms that made him bite at his lip to keep from crying out loud. It hadn't seemed that bad at first, as he had been distracted by the devastation they were driving through. But now, with darkness all around, unable to focus on what was outside, Blair felt every ache in his body. Thoughts twisted through his mind as he tried to comprehend what had happened, how his whole world had changed within days. He wanted to talk to Jim, get his reassurance that they'd be okay -- but didn't. 

Jim's whole body seemed rigid, tense and still as he concentrated on the roads around them. Blair couldn't understand how Jim found a way through the obstacle of smashed cars and buildings. At times it seemed they were blocked on every side -- an overturned car to one side, huge slabs of concrete to the other, a deep wide crater in front. Yet Jim guided them past every blockage, every pothole. He found gaps so small that Blair thought they'd never fit through, sometimes doubling back on himself and trying another route if the original one was impassable. The journey seemed never-ending, and Blair longed to slip into sleep, but his body betrayed him, denying the oblivion he craved so much. As darkness fell, all Blair could do was stare at Jim. He'd tried to look out the window, but in darkness could see nothing but his own faint reflection. At other times, he could see flames shooting into the sky, bright and fierce as they consumed buildings. So he'd looked at himself, at the multiple bruises and scratches that marred his face, tried to see if he'd changed somehow, if Emma's death was etched on his face. He'd done that for a long time, until he became afraid of his own empty expression and closed his eyes against the bleakness of his own gaze. 

Now he stared at Jim's neck, looking but not really seeing, drifting above his own battered emotions. It was like he was in some protective bubble, just him and Jim in this car, the only sound that of the engine. Blair wanted to break the silence -- to talk -- do anything to ease the tension that threatened to strangle him. Sometimes he felt just seconds away from hysterical laughter, but pushed it down with desperation. 

"Go to sleep, Sandburg." 

With a slight jump, Blair looked at Jim, who still peered forward into the darkness. 

"I can't sleep Jim. I've got so many emotions flying through my head just now, there's no way that I could sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see Emma. We'd been talking about her future plans, she'd made me cookies with chocolate chips. Damn it, Jim. This sucks!" 

"That's an understatement." Risking a quick look back at Blair, Jim seemed to be considering something. "Okay, you can't sleep; I can understand that. Talk to me then." 

"Talk to you?" 

"Yeah, tell me one of your stories, anything instead of sitting there ready to jump out of your skin." 

"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you or something?" With an audible snap, Blair shut his mouth, cutting off his next words. Rubbing a dirty hand across his face he covered his eyes for a moment, wrestling for control. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I'm just a bit..." 

"Hey, it's okay, no need to explain. I know how hard this is." 

With a hesitant reach forward, Blair placed his hand on Jim's shoulder, reassuring himself that Jim was there -- was real -- flesh and blood under his touch. "We're going to be okay, right, Jim?" 

"We've survived up till now haven't we?" Simple words maybe, but to Blair they meant everything. As did the feel of Jim's hand when he carefully brought the car to a halt before turning to place his own hand on Blair's. Jim had found him, and they weren't going to be separated again. Blair was a realist; he knew the future would be hard. But as long as he had Jim, it would be bearable. 

* * *

Hunched on the ground, a sleeping bag covering his shoulders, Joel looked towards the sky yet again. High above, the dust was taking on a red tinge, and he knew the sun was starting to rise. Time was up. Joel had to make a decision this morning, a decision he still wasn't sure he could make. 

As usual, Joel had awakened before the others, his internal alarm making him stagger to his feet. The dying embers of the fire spread a dim immediate light round the camp, casting shadows that flickered across the ground. Adding more wood, he'd placed the metal kettle over the fire, and watched as it slowly heated up. The kettle was full of bottled water, carefully rationed, but the group had decided that hot coffee in the morning was an acceptable use. So for the last few days, Joel had made instant coffee in the few cups they had, and they would share the steaming brew while eating canned fruit and chocolate. 

The routine remained the same each day. Wake, eat, sleep, try and talk a little, eat lunch, doze, make dinner, interspersed with first aid duty as Joel checked injuries. The only time any of them left the boundaries of the camp was to walk to the makeshift toilet, then back again. The campsite seemed to be engulfed in a fog of hopelessness and apathy. There was little they could do but wait. Jill and Irene would sit together, staring into the fire, flinching at any unexpected sounds. Joel worried about them, had spent hours just sitting nearby, attempting to talk, to no avail. The two were trapped in their own personal hell, and all Joel could do was watch as they retreated into themselves. 

Samuel had begun to bond with Jamie and Abigail. He would sit quietly, smiling a little as the two youngsters chatted, Jamie playing along with Abigail's games. The night Jim left, as the fire crackled and Joel prepared for sleep, Samuel had surprised him by speaking in the darkness, voice rough from disuse and unexpected in the still night. In a hushed voice, he told Joel that it would have been his grandchild's first birthday. That he'd been in the toy store when 'The End' had happened. He'd been examining plush bears when he'd heard the screams, then been thrown violently to the floor as the walls shook and collapsed around him. Joel had carefully walked to Samuel's side, touching him on his arm as the memories flooded out -- memories of being trapped by a section of plasterboard, fuzzy teddies all around him, memories of how his head was cushioned by a large white bunny, with fur that tickled his face, memories of how he'd lain looking at the decapitated head of a downy brown bear, listening as children screamed for help, before they lapsed into a terrible silence as the days went by. 

It was the guilt that was destroying him. Guilt that Jim had found him alive when so many had perished. Guilt because an old man past his prime had been saved, while children with their whole lives ahead of them had not. The guilt was ever-present in Samuel's mind. Those children had died. His wife of over fifty years had probably died also, and his granddaughter Bethany, just one year old. Samuel knew in his heart that they were gone, and the baseless guilt was overwhelming. As Joel listened to the emotionless story, he was afraid, afraid that Samuel would just give up. But all he could do was listen, be there to sympathize and talk, because Samuel would take his own path, and all Joel could do was hope it was the right one. 

Hypnotized by the leaping flames, Joel let his mind drift, thinking of nothing, with no decisions to be made, no worries about the people under his care. The only thing that mattered was watching the flames dance under the kettle -- at least for the next minute. 

Later, Joel would remember that he hadn't even been looking when Jim returned. He'd been staring into the fire until the sound of an engine had intruded into his self-reflection. With that sound hope had begun to blossom. Something was coming, and somehow, Joel knew it was Jim. Once again, his friend hadn't let him down. 

Clumsy in his attempt to stand up quickly, Joel fell to his knees once, hissing in pain as his swollen knee hit the ground, before at last he stood, sleeping bag abandoned on the ground behind him. Mentally tracking the sound he looked south, straining to see through the gloom of dawn. Shadows blanketed every surface, causing dark pockets of intense darkness, the world around him shades of gray and red. But still Joel stood, staring -- and hoping. 

At last he could see two pinpricks of light, and felt the burden of responsibility slacken a little. He had no way of knowing for certain that this was Jim, but somehow, he had no doubt. Impatient, Joel could hardly stay still, infused with an energy that had been missing for so long. He was sure that Jim would be in the vehicle, and maybe, Blair too. 

Watching the lights grow larger, Joel suddenly became aware that the group was standing behind him. Bunched together, they stood as one, all fixated on those two beams of light. Feeling a small hand slip into his, Joel looked down and smiled at Abigail, squeezing her hand reassuringly. 

"Is that Uncle Jim?" 

"I hope so, honey." 

"I think it is, he said he'd come back and he always does what he says. You said that, right?" 

"Yeah, I did." 

"So that must be him." 

Reassured, somehow, by hearing his own words from a child's mouth, Joel had to smile. "I think so; let's just wait and see." 

They fell silent as the outline of a battered car emerged from the gloom. Blinded by the lights, Joel couldn't see the driver, so he shielded his eyes as he motioned the others to stay, before moving forward. Cautiously, he moved slowly as the car stopped and the engine stilled. In the sudden silence, Joel could hear himself breathe quickly as he got closer. No one spoke as Joel approached, until, at last, a shout was heard. 

"Joel!" 

"Blair? Oh thank god!" 

Forgetting caution, Joel ran forward, stopping when Jim stepped from the driver's seat. 

"Careful, he's hurt." 

Joel acknowledged the warning with a nod and peered into the car, finally seeing Blair lying on the back seat of the small station wagon. Blair looked battered, bruises and cuts covering every exposed piece of skin. His face looked gray in the shadow, and his leg was stretched along the seat. But nothing could diminish the smile on Blair's face as he grinned in delight. Dirty sweaty hair clung to his face, but his sparkling blue eyes showed Joel how happy Blair was at that instant. 

For a moment, Joel was speechless, overcome with emotions. Blair was _alive_. When so many had died, Blair had survived. Shockingly, his next emotion was anger. Why should Jim Ellison's love survive and not his? Why? Joel wanted to scream his rage to the heavens, which no longer existed for him. Then he calmed, and his rational mind took over. Jim gave Joel a long look of understanding. Finally, after a long moment, Joel spoke. 

"Blair, you don't know how happy I am to see you." 

"About as happy as I am to see you, I bet. Come here, I won't break." 

Hesitating, Joel entered the car when Jim opened the door, the need to be close to his friend overpowering his caution at hurting him. Crouched in the doorway, Joel simply opened his arms, holding on gently as Blair squeezed him in a hug. Overcome, Joel closed his eyes, resting his head against Blair's neck. Over the last two days, he'd prepared himself to hear that yet another of his friends was dead. Had even sat and thought of what he'd say to comfort Jim. Joel had begun to give up on hope, as misery overcame every aspect of his life. 

But as he held Blair in his arms, that hope began to burn again. And the hope burned the anger away. His friend had survived, and that fact was enough to drive Joel to his knees as relief left him weak. Precariously balanced, he held Blair; they both needed the contact, the reaffirmation that they were alive. There were decisions to be made, plans to discuss, but right now all that mattered was Blair -- and, feeling Jim's hand on his back, Joel could even imagine for just a tiny moment that the day was a little bit brighter. 

* * *

Pain; it was a constant in his life now. Not bad pain, but enough to gnaw at the edge of his awareness every second of every day. He could be walking, lying down, even sleeping; the pain would be there, reminding him constantly of how wrong everything was. He used to be all health and vitality; now, at times, all he wanted to do was lie on the ground, curl up his aching body, and rest. His body and mind were in a constant battle. He knew they had to keep moving, searching for other survivors, but it was hard, and becoming more and more difficult with each passing hour. Only two things kept him moving -- his incredible strength of will and, more importantly -- Daryl. 

Simon had one blessing in this insane world -- he had his son by his side, and they'd both survived. Fate, or maybe luck, had decreed that they'd been traveling on a country road when the lights came. Simon had braked hard, horror-struck at he watched streams of light hurtle towards Cascade. That horror had intensified when he noticed one heading straight at them. His only thought had been for his child, and he'd thrown himself across the car, shielding Daryl with his own body. 

Later, as he painfully regained consciousness, Simon had lain stunned, wondering why he was wedged against the car roof with Daryl's limp body sprawled across his. Reality had returned within seconds, intermixed with an absolute terror that his son wasn't moving, that he couldn't feel him breathe. It was only when he'd managed to place his shaking hand against Daryl's neck and felt a slight pulse that Simon felt his own heart start to beat once more. Taking a minute to just lie still, to let the adrenalin that flowed through his body settle down, Simon eventually tried to move, squirming from under the inert body. 

It was hard going; the car was dented into strange shapes and angles. The driver's side had caved in, the door forced sharply inwards, and the seat tops dug into Simon's back as he carefully shifted from under Daryl. Hunched almost double, he pushed against the door, muttering a quick thanks when it swung open freely. After cautiously crawling out, Simon stood -- and froze as utter horror hit. In the distance, where Cascade should have stood, there was nothing but a smoking ruin. Simon could see flames licking into a sky that had lost all color, had become nothing but billowing clouds of smoke and ash. 

Nearby, the ground had been scorched, covered with ash, not grass, and trees had been knocked to the ground. The few trees that still stood smoldered and burned. The ground was littered with corpses -- a rabbit at the edge of the road, a small flock of sheep in the field, and birds large and small -- some with bodies blackened, others looking perfect. But it was the noise that was the worst -- no bird song or rustling of trees. Instead, all Simon could hear was the crackle of fires, and crashes as yet another tree smashed to the ground. Simon had never felt more alone as he surveyed what was left of his city, and he knew it would only get worse. He needed to tend to Daryl, then start towards the worst hit area. The inhabitants of Cascade would need him, and Simon wouldn't let them down. 

Later, he'd tried to contact the disaster emergency line, cursing his dead cell phone, but somehow Simon had known that it didn't matter. It was doubtful that there was a disaster team. Emergency personnel had practiced for earthquakes and tornados, all the bad stuff, but this -- this went beyond anything that anyone had ever imagined. 

That had been five days ago, five days in which Simon felt he'd aged twenty years, and they'd walked at least three miles for every mile traveled. They'd slept the first night huddled near the car, Simon wrapping Daryl in his raincoat as the boy moaned and slowly woke up. Then Simon held him in his arms as they dealt with the fact their cozy world had been destroyed, Daryl's maturity slipping away as he clung to his dad, shocked and afraid. 

That night had been the last time that Simon saw his son cry. Waking stiff and sore in the morning, he'd watched as Daryl stood unmoving, looking towards Cascade. Highlighted in stark relief against the cloudy, red-tinged sky, Daryl rubbed at his eyes once, smearing tears across his face. Then, with one last swipe across his face, Daryl turned, his whole body seemingly straightening as he walked towards Simon. 

At that moment, Simon knew he'd lost his son. Though physically the same, something had changed. The night before, Simon had held his child in his arms as they grieved for family and friends. Now, that child was gone, replaced by a familiar stranger who looked at him with angry eyes. Daryl was outraged, maybe not at him, but at the world. It wasn't a logical reaction, but it was an honest one, and all Simon could do was be there, supportive as always. Daryl had lost so much already; no way would Simon leave him too. 

* * *

"So we'll gather up all the supplies then set off, okay?" With another smile for Blair, who still sat in the back of the car, Joel started to walk to the camp, stopping when he heard Jim speak. 

"Before you all go, I just want to thank you for waiting. I appreciate it." 

"No prob Mr. Ellison, it's the least we can do." 

"Thanks, but call me Jim, okay? You make me feel old." 

Mouth open, Jamie looked like he was about to spit out a comeback, before shutting his mouth, content with a grin instead. At Jim's slight glare, he grabbed Abigail's hand, and headed to the camp. 

"You been using the grumpy cop act on these poor people, Jim?" 

Blair's smile wilted as Jim turned towards him, serious look on his face. 

"No... well, maybe a little. I think I might have scared them when I was looking for survivors; it was all I could think of, finding people alive. I just wish that I'd done a better job." 

Shocked at the level of guilt he could hear in Jim's voice, Blair motioned that Jim should come sit by him. Wishing he could move freely, he reached for Jim's arm when he sat down, legs still outside the car. 

"Are you crazy? You'll have done the best that you could. Stop beating yourself up like this. What about Abigail, or the others? They would have died if it wasn't for you." 

"What about the rest? The ones that I could hear crying for help, the ones that I couldn't get to in time. They died and I couldn't reach them." 

"That's not your fault..." 

"I don't want to talk about it. I have to go help break camp anyway. I'll be back soon." 

With a quick squeeze of Blair's arm, Jim fled from the car, not looking back as he hurried towards the camp. Realizing that it was pointless to shout for Jim to come back, Blair let his head thump against the back of the seat, closing his eyes as he tried to calm down. Jim had looked so haunted, so guilty that he hadn't saved more people. But just in the time that he'd been freed, Blair knew it was only due to dogged determination that Jim had discovered the people that he had. Yet Jim couldn't see that, instead could only remember those that had perished. Blair could only imagine the horror that Jim must have been subjected to. The cries and screams of the dying, the smell of decaying bodies and cooked flesh. However bad it was to Blair -- and it was bad -- he knew it was ten times worse for Jim. 

But there was nothing that Blair could do to make him see that he'd done his best, not yet, not while Jim was running on a pure protective impulse, and especially as Blair couldn't even walk without help yet. For now Jim would get his wish; he could resist talking, but only for so long. There was no way Blair would let him torture himself for too long. They'd talk... it was just a case of when. 

"Blair?" 

Slowly opening his eyes, Blair looked into the face of Joel, who was looking in the door next to him. Joel looked tired, and every movement was deliberate, as if he wasn't capable of moving fast anymore. Blair could tell how much he was hurting, and couldn't help comparing this Joel to the one before. He remembered when they'd joined the back-yard barbeque at the Taggart house, he and Jim eating sticky ribs that dripped sauce down their fingers, and the way that Jim had taken a napkin and wiped the corner of his mouth as the others laughed at his domesticity. It was a happy memory, one of the best, but now all Blair could see was this Joel, the one with bandages covering his hands and eyes that had seen too much. The contrast was shocking, and Blair just wanted to shut his eyes and pretend he'd never seen. But how could he? The others had coped; so would he. 

"It's hard isn't it?" Joel echoed his own thoughts. 

"It's worse for Jim." 

"Maybe. It's hard for us all. We'll survive, Blair, I know we will." 

Blair could hear the conviction in Joel's voice, and wished he could feel the same. But right now he couldn't think of any positives. "I hope so." 

"I know so." Gently patting Blair's shoulder, Joel seemed lost in thought. "I'm not going to give up Blair. Not when I'm needed, just like I know that you and Jim would never give up. That's why we're doing this; we'll find more people, we have to. The others are ready to go, Jim wants you to takes these before we set off." Handing Blair two Tylenol and a bottle of water, Joel waited until Blair swallowed the tablets. "Hold onto that, it's your water ration for today. Now we have to try and get everything in. Jim thinks we'll all fit; me, I'm not so sure. Good thing I dropped that weight, eh?" 

Reassured that Joel could still attempt to joke despite the situation, Blair looked around, trying to figure out just how they could fit eight people plus assorted supplies into one car. "I think I agree with you. No way will everyone get in." 

"That's where you're wrong, Chief." 

Looking at Jim who had appeared next to Joel, Blair indicated the car with his hand. "What are you going to do, strap people to the roof?" 

"No, they're going in the back." 

Craning his neck to look into the back of the car, Blair frowned a little as he looked at the space between him and the back window. He remembered Leon filling the cargo area of the station wagon with boxes as they'd helped move one of the co-eds to her new apartment. But those were boxes; people were a whole other matter. 

"You're joking right? They'd get in, but comfort...? Forget it." 

"We'll look for another car Chief, this is just for now. I'll put the sleeping bags there for them to sit on. I know it won't be comfortable, but it's the best that I can do. We need to get away from here. We have to if we want to catch up with the owners of those footprints." With a look north, Jim stared in the direction the footprints had led. "If we leave now, and they stayed on foot, we might be able to catch up within a day." 

"You think there's many of them?" 

"I saw two different prints. Who knows, they may have gathered more on the way like we've done. There's only one way to find out." Suddenly standing, Jim moved away and Blair watched as he grabbed a bag from a young man. From Jim's description during the journey, Blair knew it had to be Jamie, and he smiled a little as the boy grinned shyly. 

"Hey." 

The bag dropped to the ground as he approached the car. "Hi, I'm Jamie." 

"Yeah I know, Jim described you all on the way here." 

"Cool, so I guess you can place the others too." With a last smile, Jamie made to move away, before bending and looking through the door once more. "I'm glad you're okay, man." 

"Me too." 

Still weary, Blair let his head fall back against the seat, closing his eyes. The pain in his leg was starting to ease, the painkillers taking effect at last. But in return he felt overwhelmingly drowsy. He fought the feeling as hard as he could, wanting to stay awake, to watch Jim and Joel and all these people he only knew secondhand. Blair didn't want to be alone again; he wanted to listen to the sound of voices and watch as Joel swung Abigail on his shoulders, the small girl's shriek of delight so alien to him after so many days of horror. However, the last week had been hard, brutally so, and Blair felt himself falling fast, not even moving when he felt something warm placed over him, and his legs lifted up so someone could worm underneath. Sleep was inevitable and, as Jim started the slow journey into the unknown, Blair remained oblivious, pain free and comfortable at last. 

* * *

One foot in front of the other. It was all that he had to do, but right now it was the toughest thing that Simon had ever done. His feet ached, each step sending red-hot needles of pain up his legs. His shoes -- well-made and expensive -- had been perfect when he was driving his son for an interview for a summer job . Now they cut into his ankles, and the soles slipped on the ash that covered the ground. Simon had fallen to his knees twice, and now his pants had more holes in them, the fabric ripped and gaping. His vest was long gone, ripped into strips and bound round his ankles and Daryl's head. The material looked wrong on his son, the brightness vivid against the dirt and dried blood that was crusted amongst the dark hair. 

Daryl was coping better, his Nikes suited to walking long distances. But he suffered in other ways. He was nauseous from a head wound, and Simon worried every time he saw him stop, eyes closed as he fought the urge to vomit. Once Daryl had lost that fight, dropping to his knees, spewing bile onto the ground, dry heaving within seconds because of his empty stomach. Simon had squatted next to him, patting his back gently until the heaving stopped, then wiped Daryl's mouth with the bottom of his shirt before pulling his son close. 

For a minute Daryl had remained there, letting his dad take his weight, before jumping to his feet, declaring that he was fine. Simon had longed to comfort him more, but recognized that Daryl was still angry, at the world and at his father for not preventing this disaster. They both recognized it as an unjust anger, but Simon knew his son, knew that anger was easier to deal with than grief. So he had said nothing, just following as Daryl kicked at the layers of ash before walking away. 

Now, hours later Simon just wanted to lie down and rest his weary body, but as long as Daryl kept walking, so would he. They'd finally reached the outskirts of Cascade, and Simon silently grieved as he walked streets that days before had bustled with life. He quickly learned not to look too closely at the carnage around him. There was nothing that he could do for these people, and it soon became routine to walk past yet another blackened corpse. Simon felt numb, dead inside. He knew that the sight of someone huddled in a doorway, arms outstretched towards the sky, but so obviously lifeless should affect him. But it didn't; it was just one of many bodies he'd seen -- burned bodies, skin black and peeling, body parts on the road, a leg under some rubble. Combined, it was too much to take and, in order to cope, he couldn't grieve for each one. Not if he wanted to maintain his own sanity. 

Daryl had stopped talking after their second sleep; now he merely grunted in answer to any question. Simon didn't push, just kept following, pace punishing at they walked north. It was an instinctive decision, to head towards the docks. Within hours of reaching Cascade, Simon had known it would be pointless to head towards downtown and the PD. That had been his original thought, but observing how the damage worsened the farther they went, he knew there was no point. It was doubtful that the station would have survived; the damage looked so bad that surely the PD would have been destroyed or at least badly damaged. Simon didn't dwell on such thoughts; he had to concentrate on what he had, not what he'd lost. Daryl was with him, and that was the most important thing just now. 

"Daryl.... Daryl hold on." Daryl looked back, stopping in the middle of the street. He looked exhausted, and Simon knew they'd have to rest, despite wanting to go on. "I need a break son; we'll camp here for now." 

A nod was the only response Simon received, but at least Daryl walked back, then dropped to the pavement and lay supine. Looking at him, Simon could tell that he'd called a halt just in time; the last reserves of Daryl's energy had gone. Simon eased himself down too, his body aching, putting the bag that he'd found in his lap. They'd scavenged the day before, when they'd reached the first house on the outskirts of the city. Simon had hated to do it but, recognizing the need for food and water, he'd carefully climbed through a smashed window, gingerly stepping across buckled floorboards and holes in the floor. 

He'd found the bag and a few supplies then, but it wasn't enough, they needed more. Resigned, Simon hauled himself to his feet after resting for a while, and scanned the closest house. It didn't look that bad -- only one wall had collapsed -- so Simon knew he had a chance of more supplies. 

"I'm going to look for more food son. I'll be back soon, okay?" 

Receiving a nod in reply, Simon moved to the house, cursing his feet every step of the way. Pushing at the door that swung on one hinge, Simon entered. Inside it was deathly still, the air dank and thick. Ignoring the more-damaged front of the house, Simon carefully moved towards what had to be the kitchen. 

Inside, he almost gagged when he saw the body of a dog, lying at the feet of an old man. They'd obviously been dead for a few days, dying where they'd stood, the small dog's head resting against the man's leg. Closing his eyes for a second, Simon took a deep breath, and uttered a quick prayer as he began to hunt for supplies. He felt bad that he had to raid the house, but was realistic enough to know it was essential that he do so; food and water were more important than sentiment. 

Simon pulled cans of food and bottles of water out of cupboards and pushed them into the canvas bag. Quickly he added matches, a can opener, and a flashlight and batteries, until he was satisfied that he had all that was available. As he was about to leave he stopped, seeing the phone receiver hanging from the wall. Knowing that it was pointless to try, he nevertheless picked it up, becoming even more dejected when he brought it to his ear and heard nothing -- not even a dial tone. 

Disappointed and softly cursing, despite knowing what a long shot it had been to think he could contact anyone, Simon carefully hooked the handset back in place. He stopped a moment as the reality of his situation hit yet again. He was alone with Daryl; there was no commissioner he could contact, no backup, no one he could call for help. It was up to him to survive, to find other survivors, because there had to be some somewhere. All he had to do was find them. 

* * *

With a last look round the temporary campsite, Jim jogged back to the car, a small smile breaking free as he drew closer. He was amazed that they had got everything in, supplies and people. No one looked particularly comfortable, but at least they didn't have to walk. Speed was the most important thing now, to get away from Cascade, so they didn't have to watch their former home burn to the ground. It was a terrible sight, one that Jim wished he could scrub from his mind, as he watched family homes lost to flames and the gutted remains of buildings. They'd all seen houses with walls collapsed, exposing the inside to public gaze -- children's rooms covered in Barney wallpaper, a bed hanging precariously over the drop. Debris littered the street, books and papers burnt beyond recognition. Charred clothes and baby carriages, toys and family portraits, once so important, were now nothing more than rubbish in the wind. 

They set off and soon learned not to look closely as they traveled. Eyes skimmed across the devastation, knowing that if they focused -- if they looked that little bit harder -- all the horror would be exposed, and none could carry that extra misery, not yet. They couldn't grieve for every child, every burnt corpse on the road. The only way they could live without going mad was to isolate themselves, detach from the wider picture, concentrating only on the people inside the car. 

For the last few hours this car had been the focus of Jim's world. Nothing existed except the people in it and the difficult job of keeping them moving, getting them away from this living hell. They might be going to more hell -- Jim didn't know yet -- but he knew they had to try, that to stay in one place was giving up, and that was one thing that Jim Ellison didn't do. He would find them a safe place; it was just a case of when, not if. 

Eyes constantly moving, he focused only on the road ahead. Behind, he could hear soft chatter, as Blair woke and distracted himself from his pain by learning all about his companions. Jim had listened as Jamie and Blair found a common taste in music, as Abigail talked about her mom again until Jim heard her bury her face in the scratchy fabric of someone's clothes and the salty smell of tears filled the car -- too many for just one person. Their voices were muted, as if there were an unspoken rule that they had to be quiet, in respect to those that couldn't speak anymore, the multiple bodies that they knew they were constantly driving past, even if they couldn't see them. 

The air was hot and sticky, and Joel opened the window a little. Jim had long ago learned to filter the smell of their unwashed bodies, the cling of ash, dried blood and decay that seemed to hover in the air. Mostly he succeeded, but sometimes when he forgot and took a deep breath he gagged at the putrid smell that tainted everything. The others didn't seem to notice, and Jim was glad for that small mercy, as they crowded unwashed and stinking against one another. 

Hours later and Jim's head was aching, the constant strain of searching for a safe route causing savage jabs of pain to jolt through his skull. His eyes felt hot and his shoulders were hunched and tight. He could feel Blair's hand on his shoulder, as he lent forward from his seat behind Jim. Blair's fingers gently stroked along the knotted muscle, easing Jim's pain a little. Jim wanted nothing more than to stop, to stretch his aching body on the ground and let Blair massage his aches away. He wanted to be at the loft, lying on his familiar couch, the cushions soft under his cheek. He wanted the TV to be droning quietly in the background, some movie playing to itself. He wanted a frosty beer to be inches from his hand, condensation clinging to its neck. He wanted Blair to be chatting in the kitchen, the smell of garlic and spice drifting in the air as he made supper, he wanted -- anything but this. 

But this was all he had and, despite feeling bitter and angry, he knew that he had more than most, so kept on driving, pushing the pain aside. Focusing on the road ahead, Jim eased the wheel to right, driving past a huge hole that spanned the width of the road. Bumping onto the sidewalk, he concentrated on getting them safely past a felled tree that lay across the road, its roots exposed and shriveled. 

"Jim. Stop!" 

Blair's hand tightened on Jim's shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain. Jim turned, ready to snap at Blair, stopping when something caught his eye in the shadow of a nearby house. No one seemed to draw breath as everyone looked where Blair was pointing. There was something out there. Someone moving in the shadows. 

"Wait here." 

Barking the order, Jim slowly opened his door, concentrating on the movement in the shadows. Standing close to the car, Jim focused, stretching his sight until the figure took form. 

"Daryl?" 

Disbelief was the only emotion that Jim could feel. He should have been ecstatic, should be running forward, but all he could feel was utter incredulity that Daryl was standing so close. The boy looked rough, clothes ripped and body tightly closed off as he stood watching the house. He turned when he heard the shout, and Jim was staggered at the years that seemed to line his face. The last time Jim had seen him, he'd been running from his dad's office, bag flung over his shoulder, grinning and slapping at Blair's hand as he hurried past. But now, he looked nothing like that carefree figure. Daryl had aged, had become a man within days; just more innocence lost to this horrific new world. 

"Detective Ellison? How... where... who's that in the car?" 

The questions broke through Jim's disbelief, and he ran forward, meeting Daryl halfway as the boy ran towards him. Jim pulled him into a brief hug, as Daryl let down his guard. Jim could feel the tension in his body, then pulled back when he heard Blair's shout. 

"Daryl? Is that you man?" 

"Blair?" About to run to the car, Daryl stopped when Jim grabbed for his arm. 

"Wait, are you with anyone?" 

It seemed too much to expect, but Jim couldn't help the tiny flare of hope that he felt. He knew that Daryl and Simon had been together the day of 'The End'. Surely they would have stayed together -- unless Simon hadn't survived. Fighting the urge to shake Daryl, Jim clenched his fists, trying to prepare himself for bad news. 

"Yeah, dad's in the house." 

With that Daryl pulled away, running to the car where Joel was standing with Blair resting against him. Torn between watching the reunion and entering the house, Jim felt his eyes mist a little as Daryl launched himself at Blair, making the whole group stagger back until Joel pulled them upright, his arms wrapped round both younger men. The three stood still, not talking, entwined as they celebrated another survivor, a friend emerging from the ashes, something none of them had dared hope for. Daryl's head was buried against Blair's neck as he bent into the embrace, arms held tight, emotions shown so clearly without the aid of words. 

About to join the huddle, Jim paused when he heard a crash from inside. Abruptly changing direction he ran to the house, carefully striding up the steps to the front door that hung off its hinge. Cautiously entering, Jim reeled back a little as the stench of death swept over him. Looking round quickly, he stepped over piles of wood that looked like the remains of the staircase, then stopped as a string of curse words filled the air. 

"Simon?" 

The sound of Simon's voice was like a balm to Jim's irritated senses. That someone familiar, someone he loved, was in this place was a miracle. But Jim knew that miracles did happen, especially when he saw Simon appear in the doorway, utter disbelief on his face. 

"Jim?" 

Simon seemed unable to continue, staring at Jim as if he were an apparition. Identifying with the feeling of shock, Jim moved forward, laying his hand on Simon's arm. 

"I'm real." The words seemed to break the spell Simon was under and he leaned forward, dropping the bag he was holding, pulling Jim into an embrace. No words were said as the two men drew comfort from one another, sharing pain, relief, and friendship in a hug. The hug was brief but heartfelt and, as Jim pulled away, he talked past the lump in his throat. "It's great to see you. I thought... well you know what I thought. I'm just glad you're alive. The others will be too." 

With those words, Simon straightened, eyes round in surprise as he took in their meaning. "You're not alone?" 

Jim could tell that Simon hadn't considered he'd be with others. Smiling, he picked up the bag that Simon had dropped, happy that for once he had good news to share. "We found some survivors, they're outside..." 

Interrupting, Simon held up a hand. "Wait, you said 'we'." 

"Yeah, me and Joel." 

"Joel's here?" 

Simon seemed stunned for a moment, and Jim caught the slightest tinge of salt as the other man ran a hand across his eyes. "Joel's alive." The softly-whispered words were accompanied by a blossoming smile as Simon started to move to the front door. "He's outside too?" 

"He should be, he was with Blair and Daryl." 

If Jim had thought that Simon was shocked at first, it was nothing compared to now. The man literally stopped in place, frozen, a foot either side of the pile of wood. 

"But... he wasn't even with you that day was he? He should have been at Rainier." 

"He was. I went to get him." 

"You went to get him? Somehow I suspect it wasn't that easy." 

There was no answer that Jim could give, and he knew that Simon probably didn't expect one. That he would go to get Blair was simply a fact, one that Simon knew firsthand. There was no reason to share _how_ he got Blair; Simon had been out there, he knew how bad it was. 

"It wasn't." 

That was enough, and Simon moved on, hurrying now that he knew two of his friends were waiting outside. 

Bag grasped tightly in his hand, Jim followed just as quickly, exiting just in time to see Simon be pulled into the huddle of men who still clung to one another. This time Jim wouldn't be excluded, and for the first time in days a little of the weight temporarily left his shoulders as he allowed himself to be pulled into a hug by Blair. They stood for almost a minute, arm against arm, hand against hand, skin against skin. All dirty and dusty, wearing clothes little more than rags. They hurt both mentally and physically, and all longed for things that they could never again have. But in that minute, those precious seconds, they were a group of friends once more, and they reveled in that feeling because, to a man, they knew it was only a temporary respite in a sea of pain. 

* * *

Sparks crackled into the sky as the group lay round the fire. After an impromptu meeting they'd decided to rest for the night, that Jim needed to try and relax before driving on. Of course Jim hadn't seen it that way, had even resisted a lecture from Joel, and the bribe of a back rub and a cuddle by Blair. However, he conceded defeat when Simon had drawn himself to his full height and told him they would rest and that was an order. The absurdity of Simon pulling rank had struck all them all, even the ones who didn't know him personally, and the group had dissolved into much-needed laughter as Simon stood and tried to look offended. 

Now, Blair lay across Jim's knee, sighing in contentment as splinters of wood and plasterboard were picked meticulously from his tangled hair. For the first time in days he felt slightly content, the pain in his leg dulled by one of the carefully-rationed painkillers and his belly full of canned stew and peaches. If he closed his eyes he could even imagine they were camping, the sound of burning wood transformed into the small fire that they always built when camping. There would be marshmallows waiting to be stabbed onto sticks, freshly-caught fish in the cooler box. Their tent would be nearby, a double sleeping bag ready inside where they'd snuggle together against the cool air. Blair loved those times. Lost in the memories, he sighed, sniffing at the air. At that the illusion was shattered. Instead of the fresh scent of the woods, all he could smell was the rancid stench of decay and burned structures, and the unwashed bodies that surrounded him. It was a harsh jolt back to reality and he shuddered a little, looking up to see Jim's worried expression. 

"You okay Chief?" 

The urge to lie was strong, but Blair knew that Jim would see through that lie within seconds. "No, not really. I was just thinking about when we used to go camping. Sort of got caught in the memories you know? Then reality came crashing down." 

Jim grabbed Blair's hand as he started to clap his hands together to demonstrate. "Whoa there, Abigail's asleep." Holding tight to Blair's hand, Jim brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss across it before letting go. "I'm sorry." 

Confused, Blair looked at Jim. "For what? And if you mean this, you can get that idea out of that hard head. I told you before, you had _nothing_ to do with this, so don't apologize to me. If you're going that route, I might as well apologize for getting drowned by Alex." 

"That wasn't your fault..." 

"Yeah, and this isn't yours." Exasperated, Blair sat up, keeping direct eye contact with Jim. "This _is not_ your fault. Yes, this sucks, in fact it sucks a thousand times worse than the worst sucky thing ever, but unless you did this -- and you've already told me you haven't -- there's nothing to say 'sorry' for." 

Warring between kissing or punching Jim for being so quick to shoulder the blame, Blair just let his body relax, reverting to his former position. Jim remained silent, and Blair began to drift off to sleep, tired after what seemed the longest day ever. However, he shifted when he felt Jim's body begin to shake. Concerned that Jim was beginning to break down, Blair propped himself on an elbow, words of comfort starting to form before he realized that, not only was Jim not breaking down, he was actually laughing. 

"The worst sucky thing ever?" 

"Yeah. Want to make something of it?" 

Unable to resist joining in, Blair began to laugh too, laughing until tears ran down his face and Jim used the edge of his shirt to wipe them away. Once he finished doing that Jim bent forward and kissed Blair firmly on his lips, murmuring, "I love you Blair," against his lips. 

Maybe they were in the most sucky time ever, but at that moment Blair was happy just where he was. Deepening the kiss he held tight to Jim's shoulders, letting his tongue explore freely. 

"Ellison, Sandburg! Take it behind a bush or something, will you!" 

They sprang apart at Simon's words, laughing once more, quieting down when they saw his glare from the other side of the campfire. 

"Jeeze Simon, give a guy a heart attack." Holding his hand against his chest Blair winked at Jamie, who lay curled with Abigail on their right. "Jim's old now, he can't take many shocks." 

Caught in the game, Jim raised an eyebrow. "You calling me old, Chief?" Before Blair could answer, Simon gave a warning growl. "I think you did, but it'll keep. We've got a long way to go in the morning, and we need some sleep." 

Easing them both down, Jim pulled Blair into his arms, and Blair relaxed in the secure hold. They had a long way to go tomorrow, but at least they had Simon at their side now -- and Daryl. It seemed like life was looking up at last. God knows, it couldn't get worse. 

* * *

They'd tried to cram in the car the next day, but soon realized that ten people couldn't get into one car however many combinations they tried. Now two people would walk, and the others ride. It was a system that worked fairly well, the car stopping often to let the walkers catch up. Jim and Simon were the current walkers when Jim abruptly stopped. 

"Wait. Can you hear something?" 

Exasperated, Simon stopped, listening for what had caught Jim's attention. "I can't hear anything." 

"I can. It sounds like someone's trapped in that house." 

The house that Jim pointed to was set back from the street, its windows blackened, charred curtains flapping through the smashed glass. Most of the roof had collapsed, and the walls looked ready to follow. That anyone could be alive inside seemed incredible but, looking at Jim -- the way that he stood, head to one side, listening to something inside -- Simon could only hope that by some miracle someone was in there. Had hung on for nearly a week and a half. 

"What can you hear?" 

"Someone's moaning. I have to go in Simon." 

"I never doubted that you wouldn't." Resigned, Simon looked from Jim to the ruined house and back again. "Just give me a minute to tell the others where we're going and I'll come too." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"Jim, get in through that thick head of yours. I'm not letting you go in there alone." 

With a glare Simon strode towards the car, muttering under his breath about fool-headed idiots. Thankful that Joel had stopped driving and reversed back, Simon bent to look through the back window, once again smiling at the crush of people inside. 

"Jim heard something in that house. He thinks it could be a survivor. We're going in to check." 

"I'll come and help." 

"No, you stay here Joel, the place doesn't look that steady." 

Joel was obviously torn between arguing or agreeing, but eventually, after looking at the house himself, seemed resigned to staying. 

"Okay, but I'll wait in the grounds for you, be your backup." 

Happy with that compromise, Simon stepped away from the car, waiting for Joel to join him. He was slightly amazed that the group had agreed to stop and search, despite knowing that the odds on finding someone alive were tiny. Yet he also knew that every one of them suspected that Jim was special in some way. None had commented on it, but the knowledge was there, known but not talked about. 

"Simon." Blair's voice broke into Simon's thoughts and he moved to look into the back window, bending so he could see inside. "Be careful okay, and watch Jim; you know how he gets sometimes." 

Blair looked anxious, looking from where Jim stood to Simon then back again. It was obvious that having to sit and wait while Jim went into a dangerous situation was killing him, and Simon had no doubt that if Jill wasn't sitting next to him, hand on his arm, he would have been trying to get out of the car. 

"I'll watch him Sandburg, and I'll be careful. Someone needs to be here to keep you in line." Grinning to take the sting out of the comment, Simon gave one last reassurance. "We'll be out before you know it, hopefully with someone alive. Have faith, Blair." 

Blair still looked uncertain but, hearing Jim's call, Simon had to go. He walked away to calls of 'be careful', then stopped as he felt a hand on his arm. 

"Dad, wait." Daryl kept his hand gripped round Simon's arm, feet kicking at the ground as he obviously struggled with saying something. 

"What is it son? Jim's waiting." 

Daryl seemed embarrassed, as he looked at his dad. "It's just... be careful okay? I don't want anything to happen to you." 

"Nothing will, son. But I'll be careful, I promise." Daryl still seemed unsure, so Simon pulled him into a hug, holding tight. They remained clinging together, taking comfort from one another's presence, until, at last, Simon pulled back. "Watch Blair for me, I think he'd be chasing after us if he could." 

Daryl nodded, so Simon walked away, trying to forget the fearful look in his son's eyes. There was no way that he couldn't help Jim, but leaving Daryl was one of the hardest things that he'd ever done. But no one could be as safe as when they were with Jim Ellison. They'd go in, search for the survivor then be out and on their way. Nothing would happen -- of that Simon was positive. 

* * *

Jammed in the back seat, Jill's hand on his arm, Blair had a bad feeling. Despite the car being turned away from the house he imagined that he could feel its presence looming over him. But that was stupid; it was a house, nothing more. Jim and Simon would go in and bring whoever was in there out. Nothing was going to happen. So why did he feel dread clawing at his heart? Blair longed to get out of the car, go running after the two men who were approaching the house -- would have done if it wasn't for his leg that made even walking painful, never mind running. Blair could feel the atmosphere in the car start to thicken, as they all seemed to sit and wait, not speaking, everyone lost in their own thoughts. 

Abigail kneeled in the back of the station wagon, resting against the back seat. She seemed subdued, nibbling at her nails as she watched Jim and Simon walk away. Blair could tell how worried she was, and forced a smile as he turned to face her. She didn't seem reassured, and Blair didn't blame her as his gaze was pulled back to the house, almost against his will. Jamie, Samuel and Irene sat on the ground, taking advantage of the stop to stretch and move, but every few minutes they'd look across to the house, worry on their faces. By stretching to one side, Blair could see Joel, Jim and Simon at the door of the house, so small against the devastation behind them, and he wanted to scream and shout not to go in, but didn't... a decision he would regret for the rest of his life. 

* * *

Perfectly still, Jim listened, concentrating on the noise that he'd heard before. He discounted the usual sounds -- the soft talk of the others, the crackle of the lingering fires and the never-ending creaks of houses on the verge of collapse. The house he stood beside was the same; ominous noises sounded from deep inside as the weight of the house pressed against weakened supports. But under it all Jim could hear the sound of moaning, soft cries and muffled bangs that suggested that someone was trapped. 

The urge to plunge into the house without Simon was overwhelming, every second's delay grating on him. But Jim knew that he had to wait, that he couldn't save everyone totally on his own. Impatiently he turned and saw Simon hugging Daryl. Seeing how close they looked he instinctively looked for Blair, extending his sight until he could see him sitting in the car. Blair seemed to recognize what he was doing, mouthing 'be careful, I love you' to him -- loving words in contradiction to the sad look on Blair's face. Knowing that Blair was unable to see, but doing it anyway, Jim mouthed back 'love you too' before turning away when Joel approached. 

"I won't tell you to be careful, Blair just did that. Just come back okay. I don't want to have my ass kicked by your other half." 

Smiling at the image of Blair kicking Joel in the ass, it took a few seconds for what had been said to sink in. 

"Blair's way over there, how was I supposed to hear anything?" 

Joel stared at Jim, weighing his words. "I'm not stupid Jim. I don't know how, but you could see what Blair was saying then, and I know you hear things that no one else can. I know you do. You don't have to explain, but I know something's different about you." 

Joel looked sympathetic as he confessed his suspicions, but all Jim could feel was relief that at last his abilities could soon be out in the open. That the days of half-truths and lies could soon be over. 

"I don't know what to say." 

"So don't say anything. Just go and find whoever's in there." 

"You ready?" 

Relieved when Simon joined them, Jim started to walk up the stairs, knowing that he and Joel would have a frank talk later, when Blair was there to explain all the mystical stuff that Jim didn't like to talk about. But for now, they had a house to search and someone to find. 

The door opened slowly when Jim pushed against it, screeching as warped wood was forced from the frame. Trying to ignore the noise, Jim pushed harder, finally moving back and kicking hard. The door crashed back with a bang, jamming inside, and the two men gingerly entered the house. Once fully inside, Jim had to stop to sift through the assault on his senses. He'd done this many times now, climbing into places that stank of death and destruction, but it never got easier. Jim still had to deal with the nausea and horror that swept across him. 

Previously it had been Joel, but now Simon looked at him with concern. Indicating that he was fine, Jim listened, locating the sound he was searching for. He moved before Simon could ask if he was okay, because he wasn't, and Simon knew it. There was no way that he could tell Simon about the stench of burned flesh and cooked hair, overlaid with human waste, charred wood, and the sweet smell of decay. He didn't want to say that he could see the remains of two bodies in the kitchen, flesh blackened, and the relics of a meal on the table. Simon wouldn't be able to see that in the dim light, and that's how it was going to stay. Jim would keep those scenes to himself, so he moved on before the meaningless question could be uttered, because they both knew that the answer would have been a lie. 

The noise was coming from upstairs, and Jim cursed when he saw how unsteady they looked. Questions flooded through his mind -- should he get a rope? Would the stairs take his weight? Finally realizing that the sounds were getting weaker every second, Jim made his decision. 

"I'm going up there. I don't think these stairs would take both our weight; you stay here and wait." 

For a moment Jim thought Simon was going to disagree, and he prepared to argue his case. 

"I'm not happy about it, but go." 

Without a word Jim started to climb the stairs, listening intently to every creak, every moan. Zeroing in at the treads of each stair he stepped over some, knowing they were almost burned through. It was a slow climb, and Jim was frustrated when he reached the top, because he couldn't hear the moans anymore. Fighting against the need to run to each door, search in every room, Jim froze in place and listened. Nothing. 

Desperate now, he tried harder. No way could he have done this for someone to die when he was in the house. He wasn't going to let one more person die. Extending his hearing as far as possible, way past what he'd used before, he listened for any sound -- a breath, a cry, anything -- never even noticing when his other senses started to fade, sight bleeding away, smell fading, body going numb as all he could do was listen, as his world reduced to particles of sound, nothing more. Exhaustion had stripped Jim's usual defenses, and he zoned -- hard. 

Below, Simon looked up, wondering why Jim wasn't moving, why he was standing so still, not making any attempt to move. Unsure whether to shout he waited, unwilling to speak if Jim was concentrating on his hearing. Time passed slowly, the seconds creeping past, until finally Simon knew he had to do something. 

"Jim." Jim didn't move, still in the same position. "Jim, answer me for god's sake." Still nothing. "If you don't answer me I'm going to get Sandburg." When Jim still didn't respond Simon knew something was wrong; no way would Jim let Blair be brought to the house. Cursing at his luck, Simon knew that Jim must have zoned, and cursed louder that it had happened when he was in such a perilous position. Frantically trying to recall all the instructions that Blair had ever given him, Simon realized just how little he knew. But he also knew that he couldn't leave Jim standing at the top of those rickety stairs so, hoping that he wasn't that much heavier than Jim, he started to climb the stairs, wincing with every creak and groan of the timber. 

Halfway up, he stopped when a particularly loud creak attracted his attention. Looking up, he squinted, looking through a hole where the ceiling used to be. High above, Simon could see the clouds of dust and the stark edges of the house, black walls stretching high above. But what caused Simon's heart to beat faster, caused fear to assault his body, was the huge beam that hung over Jim's head. It was propped up by only one piece of wall, a wall that had shaken with every step that Simon took, a wall that had started to crumble from below. Now, hearing the creaks, Simon knew that the beam was about to come crashing down any second. 

Simon had never believed that time could actually stop, but at that moment his beliefs changed. Seconds seemed to freeze as he forgot caution and began to run up the stairs, shouting desperately as the beam lost its support and fell at a horrific pace. Reaching the top Simon pounced, throwing himself against Jim's chest. He hoped that they could roll out of the way; it was a long shot, but one Simon had to take. Jim was one of his men -- his friend. There was no way he _couldn't_ have tried. 

Screaming Jim's name, bright blue eyes were the last thing Simon saw before the beam crashed against his back, toppling both men to the floor. 

It was the feel of hot liquid splattering against his skin that brought Jim fully back. Sight soon followed, and he recoiled when he saw Simon's face pressed against his chest, blood pouring from his nose, ears and mouth. 

A beam lay next to them, one end battered and covered in blood. Working out what had happened, Jim shouted for Joel, for Jamie, anyone that could come and help. He knew Simon was dying, could tell from the wet sounds of his breathing, but it didn't mean they would just let it happen. Jim wasn't going to let Simon die inside a ruined house, lying on a filthy floor. He'd save him, he had to, because if he didn't it meant that Jim was a murderer, had killed his friend as surely as if he'd shot him himself. 

"Joel!" Shouting again, Jim carefully rolled from under Simon, pressing his hands against his back, trying to halt the blood that welled from the torn flesh. 

"Joel, get up here! But be careful." 

Desperately Jim ripped off his t-shirt, using the material to press down, trying not to notice that he could feel splinters of bone under his hands, that Simon's spine was in pieces. 

"Oh god, what happened?" 

"We have to get him out of here, this place is coming down fast." 

Shocked, Joel carefully stepped onto the landing. His face blanched as he looked at his old friend. "I don't think we should move him." 

"We've got no choice." Jim stared at Joel, words terse. "It's doesn't make any difference anyway. He's got a few minutes at most." 

Hands clenched into tight fists, Joel glared at Jim. "How can you be so callous? That's your friend bleeding out on the floor." 

"Don't you think I know that?" Furious, Jim hooked his hands under Simon's armpits, sickened at the feel of the slippery blood between his fingers. "I also know that us all dying in here isn't going to make this situation any better. And yes, he is my friend, but he's Daryl's dad, and they need to be together, so get his legs and help me get him down the stairs." 

It was a frantic descent; Simon was heavy and Jim's hands slick. They moved as fast as they dared as bits of roof fell around them. Reaching the first floor they practically ran to the door, and kept running until they'd left the grounds of the house. Simon didn't move at all; his head lolled lifelessly and, sharing a look with Joel, Jim gently laid him on his back, hiding the damage that would kill him within minutes. 

Numbly, Jim sank to his knees, gently holding Simon's hand in his own. This man had been important in his life for so long, first as a boss, then as a good friend. He'd protected Jim's secret despite pressure from his own bosses about why Ellison needed a civilian riding with him. He'd stood for Jim at his wedding to Carolyn, and bought a new coffee machine as a 'wedding' present when Blair and Jim had confessed their relationship. He'd shouted and scowled but, despite it all, he was one of the best men Jim had even known, and now he was dying. 

Aware of Daryl running towards them, Jim squeezed the lax hand in his own one last time before laying it carefully on Simon's chest. Painfully, he said a silent goodbye, and walked away, stopping when he felt someone reach for his hand. Knowing it was Blair even without looking, Jim pulled him close, letting Blair use him as a crutch. 

For years to come Jim would remember that moment, as Daryl dropped to the ground, kneeling in a bright puddle of blood that seeped into the scorched ground. Jim could smell the salt of tears and didn't know if they were from him or someone else. Simon's breathing seemed to echo in his ears and he almost stopped breathing himself, waiting to hear the next tortured gurgling breath. 

It was Daryl's screams that made him breathe again, sucking in air when Simon didn't. Daryl's screams that pierced every nerve of his body as the boy pleaded for his daddy to wake up, imploring him not to leave as he beat at Simon's chest in anguish before collapsing against his dad, sobs racking his body. Joel sat at his side, stroking Daryl's back as tears flooded down his own face. 

The others stood nearby, unsure whether to get closer, so Jim walked slowly to then, taking most of Blair's weight. Reaching Jamie, he removed Blair's hand from his waist, indicating that Jamie take his place. 

Jim needed to run, to get away from this place and, though he knew leaving now was wrong, he had to do it. So, after kissing Blair on the forehead, he ran, ignoring the look of betrayal in his partner's eyes. Jim ran for miles through the ruins of his city, but as fast as he ran, he couldn't run from his own emotions. Finally, at what used to be a secluded park, Jim fell to his knees, screaming his pain to the heavens. 

He cursed and fumed and screamed for Simon, for Daryl, for Joel, for everyone but himself, because Jim knew one thing. Simon's death was his fault, and he'd never forget that. 

* * *

A day later the group prepared to set off once more. Everyone was in the car, squashed together but not caring. Losing Simon had devastated them all, and not knowing if there ever had been anyone alive in the house made it worse. The whole structure had collapsed soon after Jim had run, and there wasn't a hope of anyone surviving. Simon's death could have been for nothing, and they would never know. The only one missing from the car was Daryl, and Jim went to fetch him, knowing exactly where he'd be. 

"... so don't think I'll ever forget you. I love you so much and I'll see you again, I know that. Hey, maybe you're with mom now. I know you didn't get along that good here, but you loved her once, and everything changes up there. At least that's what Mrs. Bennet says. Can you remember her? The Sunday school teacher with the red hair. Oh, and remember to look for Foxy, you'll want a dog and he was a good one. You'll have time to walk him now." 

Unobserved, Jim watched Daryl for a moment. The boy was sitting on the ground, freshly turned earth next to him. A rough wooden cross made by Samuel marked Simon's grave, and hanging from it were little trinkets. Blair's bracelet, Abigail's blue ribbon that fluttered in the breeze. Samuel had left his handkerchief and Jamie one of the CD's from the bag he was holding when he was found. He'd taken it from its case and it glinted in the dim light. Jill and Irene had pulled two strips from their skirts and the fabric streamed in the wind. Joel had left a photo from his wallet; it showed the Major Crime detectives, H, Rafe, Megan, Joel, Jim, Simon and Blair, always up for a having his picture taken even if he wasn't supposed to be there. Jim had thought for a while before pulling the earring he used to wear from his wallet, knowing that it was Simon who had helped shape him from the man he'd been to what he was today. The only one who hadn't added something was Daryl, but now Jim could see his necklace, hanging among all the other mementoes. 

Uncomfortable at eavesdropping on a personal conversation, Jim cleared his throat, resigned when Daryl looked at him with anger in his eyes. He blamed Jim for the accident, and there was nothing anyone could say that would convince him otherwise. How could they, when Jim blamed himself? 

So Jim endured the anger, accepting the glares as a self-inflicted punishment, brushing off any attempt to talk, and driving Blair insane in the process. 

"We're leaving now." 

"Yeah? Well you'll have to wait, I'm saying goodbye to my dad." With a scowl, Daryl focused on the grave, ignoring Jim as he said his goodbyes. 

"I have to go now. I don't want to, but Blair says you'll be with me wherever I go. I hope he's right; he usually is. Just don't watch me all the time, I want privacy sometimes, you know when... well you know what I mean. Make sure you have fun too; I think they'll have coffee and cigars up there, just don't smoke them round mom. Damn dad, I don't want to go. I'm sorry." 

With one last touch to the grave, Daryl stood, then brushed past Jim on the way back to the car. Seeing how much he was hurting, Jim instinctively held out a hand, dropping it when Daryl pushed it away. 

"Don't touch me. I want nothing to do with you, Ellison. You killed my dad, and I'll never forgive you for that." 

The words rang in Jim's ears as he walked back to the car, seeing Daryl sitting sullenly in his normal place. Catching Blair's eye, Jim just shook his head; they would talk later. For now they had to go on, and the rest of their lives to sort out. Grief would have to wait. 

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The character who dies is Simon. 

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End The End: Moving On by Terri: brenjess@btinternet.com

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